Page 18 of The Rusalka and Mr. Right

“Yes. I... I’m off work.” She tucks the phone back in her purse.

“I never asked what you do,” I realize aloud. I feel like I tried to bring this conversation up a few times but never got anywhere.

“Part-time. Seasonal. I work at Onyx Farms in September and October, then help Kane Landscaping with their pool department. It’s really only in May and June, and then at the end of the season to close everything up.” Marina gathers up a small teal bag with the PR NYU logo on it and puts it over her shoulder along with her tiny purse. I guess she travels light.

Of course. She barely works. Travels light. Lives on an old houseboat. Sounds like a drifter. Or a social media influencer who spends time making content instead of working a nine-to-five job. You know, like boat life, instead of van life.

Well? So what?

My stomach sinks—and then stubbornly floats back up to the top of my ribs to nestle by my heart.

Not who I pictured myself with long-term. Maybe this doesn’t go the distance.

“I... I’d like to find something for the winter months this year. Something steady would be good, I know. I just... I traveled a lot with my family earlier on, and I usually spend the winters where it’s warmer—the houseboat is hard to keep warm, but I’m used to the cold—” Marina stammers and trails off. When she speaks again, her voice isn’t shaking, but it's low and worried. “There was a person in my life who...”

“Your partner?” I ask gently. I wonder if they worked together. He was a fisherman. She has a houseboat. Then, he died. Maybe it’s too hard for her to do what she used to do, without him.

Jealousy flares in me, even though it makes no sense. I suddenly wish I was important enough to Marina to leave that same kind of impact.

Her smile goes from nervous to sad. “My partner, Gregor, was wonderful. Very kind. He would never do what K—”

I blink.Kev?Me??

“You could call him Big K. Koshchei is his name in our language. He’s not a good person.” She shakes her head and her eyes darken, ocean blue suddenly seeming almost black. “A very bad person. Sometimes, I feel like I have to hide here, in Pine Ridge. Other times, like I need to be far away just in case his people have figured out that this is home.”

“His people?” One of my eyebrows goes up. “What is he, Russian mafia?”

“Worse.” The smile stays on her face, small and tight, like an animal curled up in a ball so the predator won’t see it shaking in the corner.

Shit. I think she’s serious.

“I shouldn’t have said anything. It doesn’t mean anything, doesn’t matter.” Marina leans forward and gives me a hard, sudden kiss. “He’s not around to give orders. Won’t be around for a long time.”

I can’t help but wonder why she told me then. I want to play it cool, but I don’t. I blurt. “You need me to take care of this guy?”

“No! No, dear Lord, he would kill you without a thought. Please don’t. Not that you could. He wouldn’t be here—I... No.” Another kiss, this one longer and deeper, one that steals my breath and my leg bones, leaving me gasping against the front door of my apartment. “I never talk about it, and I never should. It’s not your problem, not yours to worry about it. You make me talk far, far too much.” She shakes her head.

I can’t tell if she’s annoyed with herself or with me.

“You make me feel far too comfortable. Too safe.”

Well, add “Strokes My Ego” to the list of things I like about this girl. “I can handle myself, baby. I went to college in Philly.”

“I’m sure you can.”

“If he ever bugs you, you call me, okay? Or just come here.” I cup her cheek, looking right into her eyes—and for a second it looks like her pupil is a dancing flame. I blink and it’s gone, back to a black dot in a sea of blue. “I’ll keep you safe.”

“I am no damsel in distress,” she tells me, mirroring my gesture, one soft hand sliding over the stubble on my jaw.

“So? You’re the history lover. I don’t know much, but I know one thing—the great queens didn’t fight their battles alone. They had their knights. You can be the queen, baby—and you’ve got me.”

Marina makes a little wet sound in her throat before she hugs me hard, and kisses me harder. “Thank you, Kev,” she murmurs, accent thick and smile trying to smooth out.

Then she’s gone, running down the hall and trotting down the stairs.

Stupid, isn’t it?

I’ve known her for less than twenty-four hours, but it feels like she left with a piece of my heart.

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